


Sleight of Heart

by IstTyrr



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 01:11:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13776519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IstTyrr/pseuds/IstTyrr
Summary: The Watcher finds herself battling the confusion that her emerging feelings for Hiravias bring up, caused on one hand by her own experiences as a Vailian and on the other by her fears and insecurities. Wael is at play here, spurring Hiravias to action and setting in motion a series of seemingly random and slightly jarring events, on the way to realisation.This story tackles racism and the delimiting of characters' intellect, ability, sexuality and sexual consent based on their race. And attempts to topple it in the small-scale, through the social interactions of the characters themselves. Possible triggers. Very mild NSFW.





	1. Six of Cups

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ловкость сердца](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16495901) by [Glololo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glololo/pseuds/Glololo)



**Art by the amazing[Styliferous](http://styliferous.tumblr.com/post/171222400435/postenago-she-cursed-loudly-at-his-direction)! Thank you so much!**

Hiravias was getting impatient, she could sense it. There was delight in his voice, as he traded lewd stories with Edér, in anticipation of what was to follow. It was bad enough that he had to shout every detail from one side of the table next to her, so as to be heard over the clamour of the Salty Mast. Estinne would normally share the sentiment, but tonight his eagerness to pick a lass or two for the night, stung like hot iron. She had no idea where that feeling had cropped up from. Only that it made it difficult for her to enjoy a night at the brothel. She contented herself with another gulp of the tavern swill that tasted unnecessarily bitter today. As if for comfort, Ituumak glanced up at her alertedly from under the table, where he had coiled up.

The night was progressing similar to any other, whenever they chose to bunker down at the waterfront inn; A hearty feast of what roasted meat the kitchen had on hand, washed down with several rounds of cold ale until they were all sufficiently uninhibited to let one of Maea’s guide them to their chambers. At least those of their group who partook of the pleasures of the house.  
“What about you, Estinne? Have you decided who you will go for?”  
Hiravias never drank much but still his face was flush as he asked with a grin. And there it was again, the prickling feeling in her chest, as if her heart was a pincushion for a thousand needles. His green eye was fixed on her with interest and the symbol of Wael on his eyepatch almost twinkled. She found her words had faultered but luckily her smile did not betray and she winked at him, taking a sip from her cup. For a second she wondered if he really liked her. Hiravias was always bold with words and gestures and she could not tell for sure.   
“It's that limber fellow, whats-his-name…Aldwyn or somesuch," Edér filled in, casting her a side glance. “Can’t say I blame ya. Elves like elves, right?”  
It was said casually but Estinne felt her cheeks redden. She gave him a playful slap on the arm and narrowed her eyes in what she hoped was a poisonous look.  
"What? What did I say now?" Edér protested hopelessly. "It is Aldwyn, isn't it?"  
From across the table, Aloth cast her a furtive glance but thankfully he returned to nursing his drink.  
"Oh?", Hiravias chimed in, leaning over the table, "So you only lie with folk, Edér?"  
Edér shrugged, swirling the ale at the bottom of his mug. "I didn't say that", he admitted, casting his gaze downward.  
Hiravias grinned up to his canines, "Oh yeah? 'Cause I think you didn't stray that far from Walaruna!" He made a vulgar gesture with his fist, presumably imitating Walaruna's milking skills. And accompanied with an even more distasteful clicking of his tongue.  
Estinne stifled a chuckle at the vivid performance, which only made Edér's neck turn a deeper shade of crimson.  
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it off," he muttered, taking a big swig from his drink.  
"Alright, enough you two...", Sagani finally stirred from her seat, where she had almost fallen asleep.  
"Well don't look at me!" Edér raised his palms defensively and then pointed a finger at Hiravias, "He started it!"  
"Hey!" Hiravias put up a token protest and grinned back.  
Sagani shook her head, eyeing them both in turn admonishingly. With a sigh of resignation, she nodded to herself.  
"Haven't you had enough excitement for one day? Might as well be heading in."  
"What? Already?" Hiravias exclaimed, turning on his seat and motioning her with open arms. "Normally, you're at least a keg in before you snore the night away!"  
Sagani ignored him as she stood up, shouldering the shortbow that hung on her chair. Almost immediately, the patter of small, clawed feet was heard as Ituumak emerged from his hiding spot and bent backwards on his haunches in a deep stretch, yawning with his rosy tongue rolling out.   
"Who knows", Sagani continued nonchalantly, placing a fist on her hip, "Maybe my age is finally catching up with me. Rymrgand knows it's a challenge travelling with you," she motioned to the troublemakers with her chin, "Never knew I wanted any more kids!"  
To the hearty laugh from Estinne and Hiravias, Edér responded with raising his eyebrows innocently, as he sipped his ale.  
"Let's go Ituumak," Sagani addressed the white-furred fox that looked up at her, wagging its tail. "And leave these three to their debauchery."  
As if sitting on a taught coil, Aloth sprang up as well, straightening his robes and coughing imperceptively. At once, the other four turned to look at him and he squirmed in his spot, mentally withdrawing a pace. But quickly recovered his composure.  
"Indeed. I believe it is time for me to retire as well. If you'll excuse me," he affirmed with clipped words, clutching his grimoire nervously, fingers drumming on the leather cover.  
"Shall we, Sagani?" he suggested cautiously.  
She eyed him head to toe and nodded approvingly. "Sounds good to me."  
The ranger walked around and placed a hand on Estinne's shoulder. "Are you coming?"  
Estinne turned to face her, gently cupping her hand for a second.   
"I think I'll stay a while longer," she said reasurringly.  
"Don't overdo it guys!" Sagani scolded, raising her voice to the other two, "We got a long trek tomorrow."  
"Anybody knows where Durance is?" Estinne inquired casually.  
Hiravias almost spit out the sip from his goblet, before putting it back down on the table.  
"First thing she says tonight and its to ask about the priest!" He exclaimed dramatically, wiping his mouth with a sleeve.  
"Probably passed out somewhere," Edér mused absent-minded. "I wouldn't worry about him."  
"I bid you goodnight." Aloth hurried along, inclining his head briefly.  
Edér turned over his shoulder, rather exaggeratingly.  
"Well, g'night Iselmyr! Aloth..." he teased with a grin.  
Aloth's lips twisted into a small scowl but he quickly reigned it in and scoffed in his throat.  
"At least I wish it was good, " he muttered under his breath. "Surely, we could spare some coin for decent lodging," he addressed the rest with mild annoyance, "I find myself much more amenable to the flees of a mattress than whatever filth germinates on the floor of the common room."  
"See?" Hiravias laughed, clearly amused, "You're adapting! Next time you might actually try to bed one of the lasses." He paused, thinking briefly, "Or lads, if that's your preference!" Aloth looked at him mortified, all colour draining from his face, as he strained to form a responce.  
"Something tells me there's better ways to waste his pands" Sagani defended. "Last I remember, we had a Keep to restore. Come on," she motioned to the mage.  
Aloth sighed in evident relief, as he made to follow the ranger that had already started up the stairs.  
"Goodnight guys!" Estinne bid them.  
"Yeah, goodnight to the weak-willed!" Hiravias shouted after them. Without turning, Sagani flipped him the bird, which elicited a chuckle from him.  
Estinne turned in her chair and watched them climb safely upstairs, with Ituumak at their heels. But was startled back to the table by the gentle brush of fingers on the back of her hand, as Hiravias caught her attention.  
“Something wrong?" he addressed her in a voice much quieter to his usual boisterous tone. "Honestly, you haven’t spoken much this evening.” His expression shifted to slight concern as his one green eye darted across her face, to determine some obscure illness.   
“It’s not like you”, he added turning to Edér in counsel.  
“You haven’t even played a tune,” Edér seconded as he smiled and nudged the _vihuela_ that was lying on the table between them.  
Estinne smiled widely and for the first time tonight, her heart filled with warmth. If her friends wanted a song, she couldn't help but deliver. Her fingers passed over the worn surface of the instrument and then she took it in her hands, positioning it on her lap and tugging at the strings briefly, to ensure it was tuned. With a flourish, she began her song, accompanied by short, melodious chords from her guitar.

_"I must go on tonight, my love; Remain, so faithfully_   
_I must go on to war, my dear; The Kings are waiting_   
_I will go, so far away_   
_I will always love you_   
_But you knew it..."_

The grating sound of a chair dragged on the wooden floor, forced her to stop, as Hiravias stood up at once, grasping her arm with both hands and tugging.  
"Alright, let's go!" he urged exhuberantly.  
Estinne rang a dissonant chord with the back of her fingers and raised an eyebrow, glaring at him with challenge.  
"Don't look at me like that!" He protested mildly, "You're moping! One thing can fix that for sure..." he turned to Edér, "Come on, help me! Who was it you said? Aldwyn?"  
"Hey, don't drag me into this." Edér deadpanned, raising his palms. "Don't think I can handle any more chastisement tonight," he added mirthfully.  
At the characteristic lack of movement from Estinne, Hiravias let go, crossing his arms on his chest. Tilting his head, he gave her a studying look and one corner of his lips rose in a smile, as if he had just finished concocting a plan.  
"Oh, I know what's gonna rile you up from that chair!" he teased, his voice almost a purr. He stalked behind her but before Estinne could turn around and see what he was up to, she felt the _peineta_ , which held her hairstyle together, come undone. Whatever hair still remained tucked in the comb, fell on her shoulders.  
" _Postenago!_ " she cursed loudly at his direction, getting up from her chair but Hiravias was already several paces ahead. He stopped briefly and with a grin taunted her with the sight of the tortoiseshell comb in his hand. Then he made for the back rooms.  
Estinne wasted no time, as she latched the vihuela on her shoulder and made to go after him. But before she could bolt, Edér grabbed her by the wrist and she turned back to look at him.  
"You know come morning, he's going to give it back, right? Don't get in trouble you two. I'd hate to have to go around Ondra's Gift looking for you!"  
Estinne smiled at him, clasping his wrist in turn and squeezing lightly.   
"Don't worry. We'll be back before dawn."  
Edér opened his mouth as if to say something but then he released her, nodding subtly.  
Before losing him completely, Estinne run after Hiravias.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Estinne plays is [Save Me by The Tea Party.](https://youtu.be/DuKwRLJUrEY)


	2. Knight of Clubs

The tattered hem of the green cloak Hiravias wore, disappeared around the corner. On the counter, the Mast's calico cat sat regally, licking a paw with its rosy tongue. But upon noticing Estinne, it purred, jumping down and trotting unerringly for her, mewling playfully, as it rubbed on her feet, tail snaking and coiling around her calves, forcing her to stop on her tracks.  
Estinne bent down to scratch its head, hoping that a few quick pats would do the trick but as she made to be on her way, two women climbed down the stairs with such exuberance they almost landed upon her. One look and she knew she had seen them before, they were regulars. A shirtless Orico leaned at the head of the staircase, giving them a mock salute.  
"Pleasure seeing you again, ladies," he smirked and they laughed exuberantly. Orico turned his gaze at her with a curt nod, "Watcher."  
Estinne nodded back in greeting but before she could be on her way, a warm hand, covered in smooth fur, slid into hers. Startled, she looked down at the one holding her and a vague recognition sparked in her eyes. She had seen the man before many times but rarely payed him any heed. His face, whatever she could see of it, was half covered in a trimmed beard and from the mane of his head, his ears curved backwards. To her shame, she remembered the first time they ever stepped foot in the Salty Mast, thinking him nothing more than a beggar come to the dockworkers and sailors for a pand. It was only after she watched him ply his trade or escort a customer to the back rooms that she realised he was working for Maea. And she had heard them call him Big Durmsey. That is because he never spoke words, let alone care to introduce himself.  
The orlan looked up at her with benevolent eyes and smiled mildly as he tugged her hand in an indication to follow. She hesitated but then Gjefa's voice called out to her from inside the nearby room.  
"Estinne? Come over here, love! I think you might want to hear this."  
Reluctantly, she stepped into the disused parlour, as Durmsey pulled out an armchair and patted the backrest for her to seat. She did so cautiously, eyes shifting from Durmsey to Gjefa.  
"So, what's this about?"  
Durmsey turned to Gjefa and using both hands, he made a somewhat round shape with his fingers, touching his forehead for a brief second.  
"Yes, that's her!" she responded, somewhat impatiently, "The Watcher who took care of all that nasty bitter squash bussiness! If I've told you before...!"  
Paying no heed to her snappy attitude, Durmsey made a pleased sound, something between an agreement and a laugh. With an array of complicated gestures, he swiftly explained to Gjefa as she focused on him, regularly interjecting with disparate remarks. Estinne tried in vain to follow their conversation, with the faint hope that she could glean something from it, but soon it seemed incomprehensible.  
Durmsey was different from the others. Although notorious for his, apparently considerable, assets, he did not flaunt them or use the raunchy wit, so common around here in Ondra’s Gift, to entice and beguile like so many of his collegues did. Instead, he played a patient game standing there and when the odd customer would walk up to him, he would lift his eyes and give a look that meant he was available. With a few gestures he would set the price, get paid upfront and never haggle. Estinne had seen men and women of all races approach him and he had not turned anyone down. It did not matter for Durmsey, it seemed. And this was somehow a comforting thought.  
"Alright then," Gjefa sighed, startling her to the present, "So he has an offer for you. He wants you to retrieve something that belongs to him." She leaned in slightly, "No questions asked."  
"That's it?" Estinne said, "I'll need a bit more to go than that."  
"Well that's the thing," Gjefa remarked with bemusement, eyeing Durmsey suspiciously. "He won't tell me, unless you've agreed to it first." At that point he intercepted her with a few gestures and she listened.  
"It's a trinket box," she said finally, "A small, wooden one, like those we keep around the parlour for card games."  
Durmsey reached into his pocket and extended an arm, handing her a playing card. The stylised shape of a frigate at full sail was stamped at the back and Durmsey tapped it with his finger as an indication. Then, he picked up the card from her hand, flipped it over and gave it back to her. The beautifully drawn image of a Jack of Clubs stared back at her, inked with delicate lines and coloured in subdued hues. Yet the drawing had been defaced with angry, black scribbles that marred it horribly. There was a floppy, comical hat on the Knight's head and he sported a large twirly mustache. On his shoulder, the image of what could possibly be a parrot, held its beak open in a caw. Below the Knight's feet lay a rather basic doodle of a chilli pepper.  
"What _is_ that?" Estinne asked, holding the card between her fingers and showing it to Gjefa. The woman shrugged, crossing her arms on her chest with a fatigued expression.  
"I haven't the foggiest. It's the only directions you're getting, apparently."  
Estinne laughed half-hearted, throwing a look between them as if they were pulling some sort of prank on her. Durmsey gazed at her, eyes boring into her own in a way that gave her pause. Then, suddenly, something clicked and she gazed down at the card again.  
"Did you say he was after a card box?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. This time it was Durmsey who responded, nodding with an affirmative hum. Estinne passed a finger along her lower lip, thinking, as she inspected the card in her hand. The execution was crude of course but the manner of delivery reminded her of Vailian wordgames, often played in the parlours of Corse to pass the evening. And sometimes they contained missives, hidden in plain sight, legible only to the intended recipient. Estinne smiled, intrigued and sat deeper in her chair, looking up at Durmsey with renewed interest.  
"You like riddles, don't you?" She asked him, holding his gaze as she searched for intent. He merely chuckled and returned the look.  
"Does that mean you'll do it then?" Gjefa asked, somewhat eager to move this along.  
"That depends," Estinne tested, "What's in it for me?"  
Gjefa eyed Durmsey as he turned to face her. There was a pause between them and then he spoke in gestures brief and concise, for the most part.  
"Are you sure?" she asked and he nodded firmly."He says he's willing to provide you his services. Free of charge."

  
Estinne felt the spit dry on her throat and she stared at Gjefa with disbelief. It wasn't out of propriety - she had been with plenty of folk and elves. But orlans? It had never even crossed her mind, let alone develop a desire for it. She had not thought an orlan might be genuinely interested in other kith to begin with. Well, not until Hiravias. Not until he joined with them and started running his mouth off about chasing after Aedyran skirts. Back home, orlans received the same poor treatment she had observed here in Dyrwood and worse. In Vailia, they were often slaves. And knowing about slavery did not even come close to living with it. This was a reality she had consigned to spare Hiravias, what she knew, what she had seen. She would never reveal to him that even in parlours, like the one her family run, orlans were nothing more than servants or jesters. And any prolonged unions with folk or elf alike, frowned upon or laughed at.  
At her stunned silence, Durmsey approached, his honey-coloured eyes looking her up and down pensively. Even though his gaze held only observation, she felt herself blushing under its scrutiny. Before she could say anything, he clucked his tongue, turning to Gjefa once again and communicating with several gestures.  
"He says he saw you with your friend." Gjefa translated, motioning to her with her chin. "You don't need to be ashamed. You're safe here."  
"My friend?" Estinne defended, "What are you talking about?" Gjefa tilted her head to the side and regarded her dubiously.  
"Your friend." She asserted, "Short, stocky one with the red hair? Missing an eye?"  
Estinne chuckled nervously, motioning with her hands, "No, that's not...Hiravias and I...we're travelling companions, that's it."  
Durmsey erupted with a short laugh, winking at Gjefa as they exchanged a look and she just smiled back, in an attempt at reassurance.  
At that, Estinne stood up from her chair abruptly, afraid that the sudden anxiousness gripping her stomach would show on her countenance. Instinctively, her left hand reached for the hilt of her rapier, even though there was no threat in sight. Durmsey looked up at her and raised a palm to appease her, patting her swordarm calmingly. This time his gestures addressed her directly.  
"He says he can pay you in copper," Gjefa struggled to read him. "Two hundred would have normaly been his fee, so that's what he'll give to you."  
"Just as long as he sticks to his word," Estinne consented, a strange anger welling inside her.  
Durmsey smiled and squeezed her arm gently with both hands, as if in gratitude. She nodded at both of them and walked to the door steadily.

For once, she was happy to step out of the room. Her head swam, she desperately needed some air.  
Taking out the playing card from her pocket, she stared at it, hoping that if she focused on solving the riddle, her blood would calm down and stop beating at her temples.  
A loud laughter broke her concentration. Across the main room, a tall man with a pointed beard and a fancy doublet raised his goblet in toast to a hardened crew of sailors, drinking and making merry, gathered around a large table. A prominent tricorn hat with a plumed feather and the flashy colours of his attire made him stand out from the rest of the patrons in the Salty Mast. Although his lips were smiling merrily under a prim mustache, his eyes were alert, studying the surroundings like a crag cat ready to jump. The hand on his waist stood just inches away from his sheathed saber. Estinne knew the man immediately. It was Captain Pepperjack.  
Upon speaking the name in her thoughts, she _knew_ , looking down upon the playing card, that she had found the Jack of Clubs.

  
Estinne pulled the cloak over her shoulders and melded with the shadows at the corners of the brothel. She didn't need to get too close, just close enough to read the Captain's soul, with enough focus to discern if he had the item Durmsey wanted. And hopefully not take her in a wild ride through his previous incarantions. It wasn't as difficult as she feared. The pull of Pepperjack's soul was immense and easy to reach out to with just a fraction of effort, skimming over it like the pages of a book. His presence was like an anchor, grounded in tangible, material things and unperturbed by ghosts of the past. Estinne gazed down at the back of the playing card, burning the image of the frigate that was drawn there in her memory. Then sent it out like a flaming arrow, piercing through the darkened hallways of the man's psyche. The light and sound of the world around her dimmed to a haze as she travelled inward, with only guide, the tolling of Cirono's bell. Soon, the scenery flew by; a mighty ship, like the one on the engraving, braving a wave at full sail, on its stern carved a name, _FANCINGTON_ ; weathered hands on the wheel as the seagulls screech overhead on a sunny day; the masts threatening to topple as rain comes crashing down and the wheel is spining out of control; screams and the smell of gunpowder, blood dripping down on the deckboards; desperate footfalls, down the staircase of the quarter deck as a door is flung open - lanterns, swaying lightly from the ceiling at each rocking of the ship; **the cabin.**  
Estinne took a step back, mentally unlinking herself as the push of Pepperjack's soul became unbearable. Slowly her vision cleared, as the cacophony of music and voices in the Salty Mast, returned to her ears. A thin line of fresh blood trickled down her nostril and she wiped it away with a sleeve. She had what she came for.


	3. Two of Swords

They say the waves of the sea wash away everything; your past, your crimes and even those who loved you, until your former life is less than a memory. It takes crossing an ocean to realise, it only pours salt in your wounds. And Estinne knew that no matter how far she went, she would not easily outrun this feeling and the doubts that came with it. They haunted her.  
As she stepped out of the Salty Mast and into the misty streets of Ondra's Gift, what Durmsey had said resonated inside her ear; the questions taunting her, hiding for a little bit, then surfacing again. Toying with her; Why _this_ man and not any other? Why Hiravias? Why now, of all the cursed times? He made it seem so easy to bed him. He made it seem like he was a lot of things.  
But what she was drawn to, were the things that surged out of him so effortlessly, even he wasn't aware of. The poetry in his words when he spoke of Glanfath, captivating her with customs and cultures and scenery so different from anything she'd ever experienced. How he made the everyday mundane of nature seem like a miracle. Pleasure and peril entwinned, as if life itself was an adventure. The passion and fearlessness when he fought, the fervor when he stood his ground for what he believed in. What he had endured, pain and scorn enough to break the strongest, but still somehow managed to smile. Still drank every day with a spoon.

Like an old sailor rhyme; Is it the ship that turns or the compass? Did she move him the way he moved her? It would feel like her soul was flayed alive, if this feeling was unrequited. It was better **not** to know, **not** have the answer. It was better to drown it out and never hear of it again. Estinne reached for her _peineta_ , but her fingers brushed only loose hair. Something was missing. Emptiness and hunger clashed inside her, leaving her famished.

At least the familiar weight of the vihuela was against her back. The chill of Ondra's Gift surrounded her like a blanket and Estinne could see her breath ghost out. Even the bright fires of Magran could not chase away the chill of Ondra. The cold settled like a threadbare blanket on her shoulders and she quickened her steps, hoping a brisk pace would warm her blood. Over the bridge and past the Vailian trading company, she stopped for a moment to scan ahead. Even from this distance, she could see the dark outline of the Fancington that was docked in one of the piers; its masts swaying lightly in the breeze, as the ship bobbed with the current.  
Although the sky was cloudless, the moon had not risen yet, making the darkness that lingered in the piers ideal for the task at hand. The only bright spot in her surroundings was the lighthouse, towering above all other buildings in Ondra's Gift. Estinne rested her hands on her waist and looked at it fondly. She could almost hear the laughter and music that most certainly played within its walls. It made her heart swell with pride and she smiled. That it was through their own labours it had been restored. A beacon not only for those who arrived by sea but also those who toiled on land. All its frights were dispelled and all its ghosts now put to rest. It almost made her long for the warmth of the brothel, the laughter and silken pillows. Her mind played briefly at the feeling of Durmsey's hand inside hers. She had a mind to go for the gold, but perhaps his offer was not out of the question now. No, not Durmsey. That was far too close for comfort to where it hurt. But maybe someone else. To feel another's body against hers, to turn this longing into lust - yes, perhaps that remedy would do. And it would guarantee a good night's sleep for once.

Furtive movement from the corner of her eye, warned her that she was not alone. Estinne instinctively reached for the handguard of her rapier, cursing under her breath. She would have sensed the danger earlier, if her thoughts had not been so preoccupied. Whatever did it possess her to stop and daydream? While out on a job, you never stop.

"What **do** _we_ have here?"

A voice slithered through the air and by now she coud see the three figures that approached from the bridge, blocking her way back. Estinne made to turn around for a quick escape towards the piers, but she didn't manage to take one step before two more forms emerged from out of the shadows of half-sunk buildings to intercept her.  
The man heading the advance strode forward, crossing his arms on his chest, as he shook his head negatively from side to side.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you", he said gruffly, his stern gaze gleaming like that of reptile.

Left hand still on her rapier, Estinne edged her right hand towards her back imperceptibly, reaching for her sheathed dagger, as she took quick stock of those facing her down. They all seemed clad in worn leather and armed to the teeth with daggers, cutlasses and sabers. Luckily, she did not spot any pistols in their arsenal. One, whose frayed robes betrayed some grasp of the arcane, sneered through sharp teeth:

"Are you lost, lass?"

The rest cackled under their hoods and elbowed each other forward. Yet their leader did not laugh, as his dead gaze was focused on her, unmoving. His was the only face uncovered, his greasy, scarred visage framed by long, matted blonde hair. He motioned to her in a voice devoid of all emotion.

"Those some fancy clothes you're wearing. How did you come by them?"  
"Come any closer and you'll find out exactly how!" Estinne challenged him, her posture ready to draw and strike. The gang roared as loud laughter erupted among them.  
"I like it when they put up a fight!" the one closer to her said, "They think they have a chance!"  
"I think she might have lost her way," another shouted from behind the leader, "The Mast is over there, sweetheart!"  
"You know what _I_ think?" The robed one spoke again and they all quieted down as if to listen, "I think she made the gold with her cooch."  
The others jeered and taunted, eyeing her with hungry smiles that slowly turned feral.  
"Maybe she stole them! And we can't have that going around unpunished, can we? Eh, Bragan?" the youngest of the group spoke up.  
The leader did not seem to pay him any heed.  
"Are you guys done trying to get it up? Estinne taunted, loud and clear, "I got somewhere I need to be." At this Bragan's mask failed and he signaled the others with a grim nod.

Estinne closed her eyes and felt it in her heart, that moment of calm before the storm.  
" _Cirono, te necesito ahora! Guiame, rey!_ " she whispered.

It happened almost immediately. It always did when the need was great. Time would fall to a crawl when the soul realm creeped into their own, slowing her heartbeat, as if it was herself who was dying. For a moment there was utter silence, a hollow feeling in her gut, as if taking flight, falling, plunging with a breath in the Sea of the Dead. Then their whispers would come, crowding at the edges of her senses, vying for the chance to break the dam of her defences and flood her conscience with theirs. Pieces of countless souls, so shredded and torn apart they could never form a self, but still with enough voice in each to speak, an insurmountable vortex of wishes demanding to be expressed.  
Amidst them, Estinne was safe; Immortal, if only for a bat of the eyelids. Her whole body was pried open, melding with this inversed world, seeping in its muted colours that stained like blood as far as the eye could see. The only anchor for her, the very face of Death. The keyhole gate at the jaws of Cirono that lead to the afterlife and back again. She could see it, a steady point in the horizon, a northern star to guide her traverse through the sea of souls and find her way back home.  
Everything seemed clear now. Her foes, like bright blots of ink, flickering energetically as they closed in around her. Below their feet, a congealed mass of soul energy, pulsing with a haze of violet and emerald. There was pain here. It festered at the root, fed over generations of agony. Estinne let her feet sink into it. Souls lingered in these depths, shackled whole with chains of desolation. She felt their suffering as if it was her own. In her gut, in her bones. She could call them forth.  
" _Venenu. Venenu a me_ ," she coaxed them, her lips weaving them a song, a lullaby to the abandoned and forgotten, their unheard dirge. The start of it sang through the soul, the end of it, sang with the lips.

 _Fae dance in the haze_  
_"Come sister, come with us"_  
_Cold, cold in the evening breeze_  
_"Come sister, come with us"_

The last lyric spoken, she started again, each verse another step to the Wheel. And the drowned heard her. They craned their necks to listen. With each word they took notice, they remembered their vices. Rose their heads upwards towards the morsels of light taunting them from above, just out of reach. Hands shot up through the surface of the sea. Hands that once held out for help but nobody came to their rescue. Hands that turned to claws, grasping at last for their own salvation, as they latched onto half-rotten wooden beams, climbing upward.

The waters beneath them stirred violently as the platform shook and rattled with their ascend. Spidery limbs crawled on the boards, before they stumbled forward. One or two at first, then a horde. It did not matter what they once clad themselves with - a peasant's garb or a noble's finery, because the sea had reduced them to tatters, trailing mossy tendrils in their wake and from their sleeves hang the jewels of muddy depths. It did not matter who they once were. These dead were faceless, the skin stripped away from their skulls. They had no name. But their hunger for vengeance, their hate, their desperation, those were things alive. Skeletal hands ringed around fleshy limbs, as the dead clamored around Estinne's enemies, like faithful disciples, stilling them in place, freezing them in fear. Their fingers, bruishing and scratching in vain, leaving only ghostly marks. Their heads rolled back, clacking their jaws in anticipation of the feast.  
At the sight of her spell, Estinne sighed exhaustedly, tears of relief trickling down her eyes. With one swift motion, she unsheathed her weapons. The one closer to her screamed, fighting against their grip as the dead held him forward, pulling his head up as an offering to her slaughter. She stroke keenly, piercing the base of his skull through until the blade of her rapier poked from his eye and he collapsed. She swivelled with the momentum of her attack, dagger slashing at the neck of the one advancing behind her, straining against the grasp of skeletal arms. He fell back into their midst, blood pouring from the gash as the vessels rolled their long, blackish tongues, trying to lap it.  
Even restrained, the caster of the group hurried a panicked chant but his arcane words fell through, as Estinne pierced his throat and he choked. The dead refusing to let go, even as he sank to his knees, head dipping forward. With her remaining strength, she plunged her dagger deep into the colarbone of the one struggling to defend him. The dead laid him down, huddling over him, as if resting him on a funeral bier. Estinne heaved, her breath coming out in ragged waves, as tiredness gripped her body. Sweat dripped down her forehead.

Shuffling from behind her back, snapped her senses. It was only through reflex that she managed to sidestep and nearly avoid the blade that thrust towards her. The leader of the group stared her down with the same expressionless face as when he first addressed her. Yet his beady eyes were burning with fury. If he had somehow escaped the dead, he nevertheless seemed impervious to their grasp, as their fingers threaded weekly through his cloak. Without giving her any breathing room, he brought down his weapon oven her head. Estinne parried with her rapier, attempting to stall him as she staggered below his weight. The worn, chipped saber he wielded, caught on her rapier's flimsy blade and he pressed his attack, iron scraping through iron with a hair-raising sound, as he locked her down to the handguard of the weapon.  
Estinne strained to keep balance, teeth bared against his relentlessnless. The muscles in her arm flared with the heat of pain, warning her it was about to break. With a final shove from her adversary, the rapier clattered to the floor and her legs buckled, giving way under her, as she fell on her back, hitting the deckboards. Losing no time, Bragan straddled her, pinning her down below him as he lifted his saber above his head with both hands, ready to deliver the finishing blow. Suddenly, he froze, his gaze rounded in surprise to the first genuine emotion Estinne saw on his face. His mouth opened, as if to say something but instead he gaped like a fish out of the water, as a thin ribbon of blood trickled from the corner of his lips. His whole spine convulsed and his eyes rolled downward, already dead, before he collapsed on top of her, his saber clanging harmlessly away from Estinne's head. She exhaled deeply once, mustering her strength, as she pushed him away and crawled out from under him.

Silence had returned to the piers, the only sound that of the gentle lapping of the water against the deckpoles. The air around her, previously electrified with the energy of her spell had left behind a pale mist that lingered, as the dead withdrew around her, haunching, trekkling, growing stiffer as they returned to oblivion, letting the sea swallow them once more. Estinne stood to her feet with difficulty but paused when the ghostly form of a child stepped into her field of vision. She lifted her head at the boy and it was a face she recognised, one she had seen before here in Ondra's Gift.

"Y-You..." She whispered, her throat caught from chanting. "You're Derrin, aren't you?"

The boy looked up at her, smiling, his discoloured image nevertheless whole and hearty. Estinne gasped a smile and the last of her tears fell on her cheeks, as she raised a trembling hand through Derrin's hair. Her fingers grasped only air. The boy looked down at the corpse of Bragan, laying at their feet. Estinne followed his gaze and caught the glint of the dagger jutting out from his back, a dagger she recognised. Slowly, she bent down, dislodging it from the body, scrutinised it. It was crude, a glorified kitchen knife, its handle marked roughly with a single letter. **B.** Estinne looked up at Derrin in recognition and the boy nodded once firmly and smiled widely, but this time it was as if looking through her. She turned back, curiously, at what had caught Derrin's attention.  
A lone figure stood there unmoving, as if it had materialised from the mist itself. It was impossible to tell shape or form under the black cloak draped over the statuesque being.

"Who are you?" Estinne voiced low, squinting to see.  
Realising it had been noticed, the figure offered no response. The flash of a curved blade played underneath the drapery as it lifted a sleeve, raising a lantern at eye level. The light that emerged from it was unlike any flame Estinne had seen, as unmoving as the figure itself and brighter than that of the lighthouse beyond them. Almost like a small sun. It painted the pier yellow and made it impossible to discern the form's features, if it had any. Estinne brought her hand to shield her eyes from the searing light. She heard Derrin's bumbling laughter as the boy run past her, towards the figure, grasping tight on the hand that it extended for him.  
Estinne swallowed but her throat was dry, her body wracked by sudden shiver as a thought invaded her mind.  
" _Cirono_..." she awed with reverence, her words falling flat.  
The only response was Derrin's childish laugh, as he looked back at her, smiling one last time. The figure lowered the lantern until it disappeared again under the folds of its robe. At once, darkness returned overwhelmingly around her and Estinne had to blink several times. When finally her eyes adjusted, the figure and Derrin had disappeared. As if by instinct, Estinne looked down, at the dagger she had pulled from Bragan's corpse, still in her hand.  
It was her very own Drawn In Spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Estinne's song here is [Vandring (Wandering) by The 3rd And The Mortal.](https://youtu.be/_RoKhNlre5o)


	4. Five of Wands

Estinne could not tell how long she had been standing on the decks, among a heap of corpses, after the strange figure had left. Was it really Cirono? Her mind struggled even now to wrap around the notion. She had been attuned to spirits from a young age, she could sense them and hear their tales. Music was the way through which she had learned to answer and call them forth. And then, after the biawic, she could see them. But it was one thing, perceiving a soul and another, seeing a god. Cirono had always been near, in the darkening cobblestone alleys, under the waves of the sea, within the flimsy walls of her own home. Lately, she would often feel him in battle, just a step behind, guiding her hand or other times, further away, taunting her as he faded in and out of existence. But to appear before her in the flesh? No, that couldn't be.  
Estinne shook her head to clear her thoughts, bending down to retrieve the rapier she lost during the fight. The dead offered little in the way of valuables but she searched their pockets nonetheless, for a pouch of pands and a few gems. Rolling the bodies off the edge of the piers, she let the black waters claim them, certain of the hell that waited them in the rot below. Only bloodstains were left in their wake but there was little she could do to conceal them. Estinne put her hands on her waist and scuffed the boards with the tip of her boot in annoyance. Then again, these piers must be soaked in murder through and through.  
On the horizon, the moon had almost shown its face. It was time to move.

The Fancington looked considerably less intimidating, as it loomed over her. A quick assessment of the situation had Estinne thinking that this could be as easy as a Rauatie cookie. There were no fires lit on the main deck and as far as she could discern from the portholes, the ship was plunged in darkness. Skulking in its shadow, she could neither hear any speech nor footsteps, except the heavy creaking of the planks and the rigging whipping against the masts. Bending down, she tested the soft leather of her boots, making sure they did not squeak as she pulled out a coil of hooked rope from her backpack.  
Scaling the stern of the Fancington seemed like the most expedient way to Pepperjack's cabin. Estinne waited for the just the right moment, as the young light of the moon fell upon the furled sails and she aimed her throw for the wooden railing of the quarter deck. It caught with a sharp sound she hoped wasn't too loud and she tugged at the rope to secure it in place. With a last look around to make sure she was alone, Estinne latched herself onto the rope, controlling her leap with arms and abdomen, so that when her weight landed on the side of the ship, her feet made no sound, as she swiftly climbed up the hull to the deck.  
Laying low on her haunches, she quickly retrieved the rope and looked around. As expected, nobody was on the wheel and across the ship, to the forecastle, the crew quarters looked deserted. Although she had seen Pepperjack and the toughest of his gang with her own two eyes, as they drank their night away at the Salty Mast, it was unlikely there wasn't even one guard aboard. If the scuffle didn't rouse him, maybe her luck would hold and by now they were deep in their cups as well.  
Estinne rounded the staircase and pressed herself against the underside. The master cabin lay just a few feet away but as she made to go for it, the door to her side swang open and she crashed headfirst into a sailor. The impact had her trekkling backwards but the other looked just as surprised. He held out a candle and in the dim light, she recognised a familiar face.  
"Marceno?!"   
"Estinne?! Ondra's pearly bottom! What are you doing here?"  
"I could ask you the same thing!" She huffed, more out of relief than surprise. "Last I knew, you run with Fortanero's crew." Marceno made an awkward face.   
"Well, yes...about that...He found out I lost the chest in the first place. And that I hired you and your friends to retrieve it instead of doing it myself. Let's just say he was not big on forgiveness." He shrugged.  
"Well that's a kick in the crotch!" Estinne remarked with hands on her waist as she looked him up and down, "Say, you wouldn't happen to know the inside of the Captain's cabin, would you?" Marceno blinked at her.  
"Is that why you are here? To steal?"  
"Steal? Never!" She exclaimed with mock offence. Then she clucked her tongue, eyeing him with scrutiny. "What I'm after was not Pepperjack's to begin with. Just helping return it to its rightful owner." She smirked, "There, that better?"   
Marceno exhaled dramatically. "Ack, you want to get me in trouble, aimica? Come here."  
He motioned her in the storage closet he had come out of and closed the door behind him., looking out the porthole nervously.  
"We're not alone on the ship?" Estinne piqued.  
He shook his head negatively. "There's two more of the crew. It just happened that it's my shift and it's almost over."  
"Look, you don't have to do anything," Estinne coddled him, "Just point me in the right direction and I'll be out of your hair in no time."  
Marceno sighed, leaning against some crates as he set down the candleholder and raked his fingers through his hair.  
"What are you after?"  
"I'm looking for a card box. Might have a frigate carved on the lid. Like this, look."  
Estinne reached into the pocket of her doublet and handed him the playing card with Durmsey's clue for him to inspect.  
"Ondra's bosom, what is that?" He said indignantly, turning the card over in his hands and then giving her a side glance. "Whoever led you here is a real piece of work. Who is it?"  
Estinne grinned, "You already know him..."  
Marceno waited for her to continue but her grin just turned wider and she chuckled.  
He returned a dubious look, "You're not going to tell me, are you?"  
She made a gesture with her fingers on her lips, mimicking the sewing with a thread and needle. Marceno tisked once in disappointment but then shook his head, looking at the image stamped at the back of the card.  
"I might have seen it. But there's a box like that in every port from Girrara to Revua. What makes you think this the one?"  
Estinne raised her eyebrows at him. "It's not me who thinks. It's my client. So will you help me or not? For old time's sake?"  
Marceno looked at her, arms crossed on his chest, mulling it over for several seconds.  
"Wait here," he said, passing her back the card in the process. Before he could move to the door, Estinne cleared her throat pointedly.  
"Marceno?" She teased, "Do you think your Captain leaves his cabin unlocked when he's ashore?" Unfolding her lockpicking set for him to see was just making a point.  
"You don't have to actually break anything to break in."

Marceno rolled his eyes, motioning with his hand for her to follow. They both creeped towards the cabin and Estinne bent down on one knee and set to work with her tools. The lock prooved a little trickier that she had anticipated and from the corner of her eye she could see Marceno fidget on his heels, eyes scouring across the deck for any movement.  
"Is this going to take much longer?" He urged her, voice laced with worry.  
Estinne stared at him, flinging her tongue but at that moment the dull sound of the locking mechanism pulling back in its socket, gave him the answer.  
"Hah!" She grinned, eyeing him imperiously. But Marceno just sighed in relief, helping her on her feet and pushing both of them into the room hurriedly.  
Pepperjack's cabin was as extravagant and colourful as the man himself, dressed with luxurious red velvet that had frayed somewhat over the years and adorned with intricately carved wooden furniture. Yellowed maps and the implements of navigation were splayed on the captain's desk, together with missives and open ledgers, their pages stained and dribbled with wax from burned down candles. The shelves were laden with all manner of trinkets and trophies from years of adventuring out at sea, none of them of particular value, except the emotional one.  
"Don't touch anything!" Marceno warned her, as he walked over to a wormridden chest of drawers at the other side of the cabin.  
"Hey, I might be a thief but I'm still an honourable one!" she smirked, raising her palms then placed them on her waist. "A deal is a deal, Marceno," She told him, matter-of-factly.  
He eyed her dubiously, but made no further comment as he dug in a dusty corner, retrieving a small wooden chest covered in cobwebs.  
Blowing out years of dirt and forgetfulness, revealed the carving of a frigate on the lid. Estinne compared it to the one on the playing card and nodded with satisfaction.  
"There you go!" Marceno exclaimed handing her the box and she promptly tucked it in her backpack, "Are you ready to make a disappearing act and leave me in peace?"  
She chuckled but before she could reply, the sound of the cabin door creaking inwards, haulted any attempt at levity.  
A balding, hunched over, elderly sailor walked in, squinting to make out faces in the low light from the overhead lanterns. His dark tunic was torn in places and he reeked of rum. The other two gazed at him, petrified.  
Estinne attempted to scrounge up a bucketload of excuses in her head that would ensure this encounter did not end in violence. But as she was about to open her mouth and give one a go, the fiery end of a quarterstaff reared through the doorway and smacked the man right in the middle of the head. He slumped forward like a ragdoll.

"Durance?!" Estinne bellowed, hardly believing her eyes.  
The disheveled priest appeared in the wake of the other's fall, a spiteful flame burning in his pupils, as he inspected his handiwork with pride.  
"Is he one of yours?" Marceno asked with a mixture of surprise and relief.  
"Don't you remember him?" she countered.  
"No, should I?" Marceno scratched his neck with a finger and gave the priest a reluctant once over.  
Durance chuckled gruffly at this.  
"Watcher! How fitting to find you here. Since you have a nasty habit of meddling where you don't belong!"  
Estinne furrowed her eyebrows in anger, propping a hand on her waist.  
"Looks to me like we're cut from the same cloth, old man. How did you get on the ship?"  
Durance balanced on his staff, "That seems rather obvious, Watcher. I was already here before you. Surely, it doesn't take soul reading powers to divine that much?"  
"Never mind, you'll explain yourself tomorrow when you're sober." She warned him.  
"I assure you, I am in a perfect position to debate with you till morning, if need be!" He began to laugh but was interrupted by a coughing fit and he had to lean on his staff for support.  
"Nevermind him!" Marceno urged her, "What do we do with Johann here?"  
Estinne made her way towards the sailor Durance had knocked on the floor, checking his neck for a pulse.  
"He's still alive." She said.  
"He was supposed to relieve me of my shift." Marceno explained, guilt-wracked.   
"As you can see, it not the most...alert of us that get picked to keep watch when everyone wants a go at the Mast. And I drew the short straw cause I'm green!"  
Estinne clucked her tongue and looked up at him, "Do you, by any chance, have any blacsonn at hand?"  
Marceno thought for a moment, "The Captain's personal reserve!" he beamed. Walking back to the cabinet, he retrieved a clay jug.  
"You think alcohol is going to save your little problem, Watcher?" Durance interjected, having recovered his breath.   
"Instead of standing there all high and mighty, why don't you come here and help me!" Estinne called out to him. He tapped his staff on the deck with annoyance but then oblidged her reluctantly, as they both lifted Johann off the boards, propping him in a seated position against the wall of the cabin. Marceno offered the jug to her and she uncorked it, a wretched smell overtaking emanating from within. Estinne picked a bandage from one of her pouches and wetted the cloth, bringing it close to Johann's nose. It seemed to have an effect, as he came to briefly.  
"Want a drink? There we go." She coaxed the man, leaning the jug to his lips. Johann gorged himself eagerly, not seeming particularly alarmed about the situation. Estinne pressed the bandage against the bleeding bump on his head, cleaning the wound.  
"Your kindness is wasted on this scoundrel." Durance remarked, which earned him a dangerous look.  
"So that's the plan then? We get him even more drunk?" Marceno motioned to his crewmate.  
"Do you want to keep working for Pepperjack?" Estinne looked up at him, "We leave him here. Tomorrow, he probably won't even remember his name, let alone you. And even if he does, who do you think they're going to believe when he's found sitting in here, cuddled up with the Captain's booze?"  
Marceno gazed at her, livid.  
"So he takes the blame for our mess? And it's my fault too since I helped you!" he smacked his forehead in frustration.  
"If it's any comfort, he wasn't really keeping watch." Durance interjected, as if spurred to charity. "He was down at the hold playing cards with me for most of the night. The only reason he climbed to deck was to take a piss. That's how he found you."  
Marceno shrugged, crossing his arms, "That doesn't really help."  
Estinne propped herself up and clapped Marceno at the shoulder with a smirk, "Go sleep it off, this is going to be the least of your sins. Besides, Pepperjack is not known as a cruel man, he'll probably make your friend here peel a sackful of potatoes for those few swigs he took. Who knows, maybe next time he'll learn to lock up his stash better."  
"Wael has silvered your tongue, aimica!" he replied sarcastically, shaking his head.   
Her smile turned bitter.   
"Better that, for Cirono has armed my hand. Whenever I can, I prefer not to use it."  
"I suppose the isn't much of a choice now," Marceno nodded half-hearted.

The way back to the Salty Mast was done mostly in silence, with the occassional pause for Durance to retch over the pier. As they once again entered the familiar warmth of the inn, he made to wobble upstairs, but Estinne stopped him briefly.  
"For what it's worth, I'm glad you showed up when you did." She told him, "Otherwise it would have gotten a lot messier."  
"You flatter yourself, Watcher." Durance predictably mocked her, "I didn't do it as a favour to you. That godless bastard was cheating me. I couldn't let him get away with it."  
Estinne looked away and spat on the ground.  
"Sometimes you remind me of my father, old man. And I don't mean that as a compliment."  
She turned to watch him climb the stairs to the second floor, then looked around for Durmsey.

Like every other night, the orlan worked a darkened corner of the brothel, but as he saw Estinne approach, he stood up immediately, making eye contact and subtly motioning behind her back. With the corner of her eye, she could see Maea looking over in their direction suspiciously. She stalled her advance, approaching him casually and nodding, hoping to convey the message that the deed was done. Eyes still locked with hers, Durmsey sided her casually, wrapping an arm around her waist, as she put a hand around his shoulder and let him lead her to the back rooms.


	5. King of Cups

The only light in the room came from the fire that played in the hearth, warming the crude walls of Durmsey's parlour. In contrast with the faded upstairs luxury, the wooden bed and rough-hewn nightstand were stark in their simplicity. Yet everything was clean and tidy. Durmsey motioned to his feet, as he pointed at the corner behind the door were his own shoes were. Promptly, Estinne removed her boots and placed them next to his. He urged her with his hands to come closer, in clear anticipation of her delivery. She unslung the backpack from her shoulder and dug into it, producing the small, nondescript box she had pilfered from Peperjack's cabin and placed it upon his waiting palms.  
The corners of Durmsey's eyes lined with joy and he let a pleased hum in response. Looking up at her, he smiled, nodding in affirmation.  
"Is this the one, then?" Estinne asked, "Do you have my payment?"  
Durmsey's smile waned quirkily, as he looked her up and down in assessment. Motioning with a hand for her to wait, he limped towards the table that stood close to the door.

At the back of the room, a window donned to the street, the sill so close to the floor that one could jump in or out unnoticed. Estinne approached and gazed out, at the lone lampost that flickered, illuminating the grey cobbles below. They were slick with humidity and feeling the cold sea breeze rekindled the peculiar loneliness that had gripped her. At the sound of Durmsey's feet approaching behind her, it was like lightning shoot up her spine. Perhaps to masquerade this sensation, she leaned against the frame, bringing the vihuela under her arm and ringing a soft, gentle melody with her fingers, testing a couple of chords.

"Would you like to hear a song, Durmsey?" Estinne asked without pausing her tune, gazing into his eyes to gauge a reaction. The orlan's ears pricked up at the sound she was making but if he liked what he heard, he made no response. Instead he gave her a curious look, as he closed the space between them with unhurried steps. There was no pouch of coins in his hands. Instead, he reached to grasp the headstock of the instrument and she had to stop playing, as he gently pried the vihuela from her hands and leaned it to rest against the wall.

His calm movements parried her nervousness, sending a shiver through her body. The possibility of what was about to happen, caused her to stand up before he reached for her. The sudden proximity did not seem to alarm him, as he looked up at her steadily and tugged at her swordbelt. Before he could do anything, Estinne reached for the buckle herself, her trembling hands uncertain of whether she meant to keep it in place or pull it free. Durmsey circled her, taking the folds of her cloak in his hands and she looked back at him over her shoulder.

"Do you like it?" she asked, grasping for any conversation that seemed convenient. Durmsey looked down at the opalescent fabric momentarily, his eyebrows raising in appreciation as he tested the garment between his fingers. Estinne couldn't help but notice he wouldn't employ the elaborate gestures he used so freely with Gjefa earlier, to communicate. Perhaps this silence was intriguing to some of his clients but it was unnerving to her. She wanted him to say something. Most brothel workers would engage in chatter as a way to ease the client into the act. Durmsey was different. His silence didn't melt the ice. It took a hammer to it. It was honest. Brutal. He did not need to talk for Estinne to know, his body, his whole demeanor exuded one thing. That he intended to fuck her, anyway she pleased. And this instinct both aroused and terrified her.

Her mind tred back to the orlans that worked in her family's brothel; slaves, servants, prostitutes. She remembered what it meant in Corse, to lay with an orlan - that there was something wrong with you. That you were perverse or worse. Either too meek, too disfigured or too ill for any worker in their right mind to have you. Standing in Durmsey's room felt shameful, the shame not so much because these wretched notions had seemed reasonable once. But because of how much she had seen and how little she had done to stop it.

As if sensing her hesitation, Durmsey slid his hands on her waist, giving her a light squeeze. Estinne felt her breath catch and she hurried to unfasten the clasps of her cloak, anything to make him occupied with something other than touching her. And it worked, Durmsey carefully took hold of the garment, laying it out on the chair in front of the hearth. A brass pot steamed in the fireplace and limping slightly, he brought it over to the nightstand, pouring some of its content into the large tin bowl that lay there. The smell of Palminian soap filled the air, as warm water sloshed inside. She watched him folding up the sleeves of his linen tunic, his eyes shooting up at hers and he motioned her to approach, plunging his hands in the water to retrieve a small brush.   
Estinne was familiar with the cleaning routine that happened at a brothel, both before and after a client's visit, but it usually happened in private, away from the customers' eyes. Durmsey had a different idea, it seemed. Slowly, she unfastened her swordbelt and removed her leather gloves. Despite their thick, well-woven texture, the grime and blood of her toils had seeped into her skin and dug under her fingernails. To the steam that rose from the bowl, her hands felt icy in comparison and she had to ball them once to keep from shaking. Durmsey waited patiently as she pulled up her own sleeves and approached cautiously.   
Her hands hovered above the bowl like a humble offering, searching in a look his approval. Durmsey tisked at the sight, taking her hands in his gently and submerging them in the warm water. Diligently, he set to the task of cleaning her, palms softly caressing her skin as they wiped away the dirt. The gentleness of his touch and the feeling of warmth that came with it had Estinne bit back tears. This tenderness, no matter how dutiful, couldn't be shameful.  
The water soon turned bloody but that did not discourage him either. Simply, he cupped both her hands in one of his, rinsing with clean water as he lifted them above the bowl and covered them in a clean washcloth. His fingers trailed on her wrists, thumbs idly tracing the inked designs that curled around them. Without a sound, the only sign of his appreciation, the faint smile that played on his lips as he scrutinised them. Durmsey stared into her eyes for a long moment, as he slowly dried her hands between his. Then, as if catching himself, his smile waned, looking away as he concluded the task. Estinne watched him carry the bowl to the window, throwing the water out on the street, before closing the shutters. The dim light that played in, illuminated his form in the dark.  
She retreated to the middle of the room, still fully armoured, with no idea what was it that kept her there. Her hands hovered by her side uncertain. She knew the steps of the dance, she had done it so many times before. And when the buttons gave way and the clothes were on the floor, it would be too late to back out of it. Durmsey strode towards her calmy, but he did not reach for the clasps of her armour. Instead, his hands cupped her knees, travelling upwards as they caressed her thighs, reaching under the hem of her doublet to the crook of her hips. His fingers searched for the seams between her tunic and leggings, tugging at the knots that held them together. At his seductive advance, surprise mixed with arousal churned in her stomach. Her hands grabbed at his wrists to stop him.   
"Wait..." she pled with him.  
Durmsey oblidged her, taking a step back uncertainly. Regaining his composure, he crossed one arm before his chest, the other scratching at his short beard thoughtfully as his quick eyes scrutinised her from head to toe.  
He then pointed at her, then at himself and raised one finger, moving it as if in emphasis. It took a moment for Estinne to understand what he has asking.  
"Yes," she admitted bashfully, "It's my first time with you."  
Durmsey blinked at her in surprise but then a pleased hum escaped his throat as his eyes stared with amusement.  
"What happens now?" she asked, attempting to salvage her pride. "Do I get the amateur treatment?"  
Durmsey stared at her blankly for a second then his shoulders jerked forward as he failed to suppress the chuckle that erupted from his throat. He tisked, shaking his head from side to side. Yet all her shame was quickly forgotten as she watched him, slowly stripping off his shirt for her. Estinne kneeled in front of him.  
It felt bizzare ogling him, yet she could not help herself, as her eyes roved the thick grey coat that covered his chest and arms. There were rare the times she had seen Hiravias revealed of tunic. Even though she knew she could charm her way out of it, she still dreaded to think he'd catch her staring. Yet she had risked stolen glances that never seemed enough. But that was not the case here and now. Captivated, she watched as Durmsey reached down and took ahold of her hands, pressing first the one and then the other, over his forearms. She caressed him gently, threading her fingers through his fur. Estinne remembered it vividly, as if it was yesterday, the time when Hiravias had rolled back his sleeves and showed her his markings. He had asked her not to memorise the intricate patterns but that did not stop her from asking to see them again, even more so for the fleeting opportunity to touch him. Although she savoured Durmsey's softness, it wasn't the same as tracing her fingers over the inked contours of Hiravias' arms. Sensing her pause, Durmsey slid his hands from her wrists to her elbows clutching them softly. Her eyes played up at his but she could not hold his gaze for long as she felt heat creep up her face. 

"Will you tell me your story now?" she asked, her voice low, a gentle request. "How did you come to be here? What happened to your leg?" And then, after some thought, "Who are you?"  
Durmsey raised his eyes on hers, a slight smile playing on his lips. He shook his head firmly from side to side but she could not tell if he was flatly refusing or if her questions had simply amused him. She returned a hesitant look, hands reaching for him, fingers trailing down the curve of his ears, palms cupping the sides of his face. A bitter thought crossed her mind, as her fingertips pressed gently over Durmsey's right eye, in reminiscence of the deep scars that carved the visage of Hiravias. Why was it that for every part of him she saw, there was another part secret and hidden from view? Estinne smiled at the realisation. Durmsey was beautiful. But he wasn't the one she truly wished to know intimately.

"I can't do it." She told him resolutely, "I can't. Not because I don't want you. But you are right, I think...I think I'm falling in love."  
Durmsey's lips quirked upward in a quick smile and his eyes widened in amusement as he chuckled lightly. Spreading his hands to his sides, he shrugged dramatically.   
"Will you forgive me?" Estinne asked, her tone holding more weight than the moment implied.  
His look softened and he hummed quietly, reaching forward to cup her head between his hands, as he placed a small kiss on her forehead, giving her a smirk and a firm clap on the shoulder. Estinne stood to her feet, straightening down whatever was left of her pride. To deny herself these pleasures on the vague promise of some sentiment would have made her the laughing stock in the parlours of Corse. But this wasn't Old Vailia. 

She moved towards the window, picking up her weapons and hoisting the vihuela at her back, watching as Durmsey limped to the other side of the room, reaching his desk and pulling out a drawer. Her eyes fell on the small chest she had retrieved for him not so long ago, sitting prominently on the surface. After putting her boots back on, she approached it cautiously, like one would an obscure artifact, even though it was nothing more than plain and wooden, chipped and battered from years of misuse. Durmsey was counting the pands he owed her in a leather pouch.  
"What's in it?" She asked, motioning to the box with her chin. Without pausing his task, Durmsey smirked but made no reply. Estinne leaned against the desk.  
"How about you keep that gold? And tell me your secret instead?" she offered.  
He stopped and turned to face her, raising an eyebrow in frustration as an annoyed whistle came from his lips. He propped a fist on his hip and shook his head at her in admonishment.  
"Cirono, don't act so sore!" She placated him "Is my curiosity more expensive than that?"  
Durmsey sighed in surrender. Reaching into the depths of his drawer, he retrieved a velvet bag. The crimson fabric was frayed and faded but clearly a relic from more prosperous times.   
A silver key was all that he pulled from it and swiftly, he turned it on the lock. Estinne huddled closer, breath hitched in anticipation.  
Durmsey opened the lid and at once, his smile turned to a scowl of revulsion as his eyes rounded with awe. A foul smell emerged from whatever was contained inside, the stench of rot and decay. Peering over Durmsey's shoulder, Estinne could see a small cloth bundle, wrapped with twine. Whatever caused the odour had seeped into it, staining it like pitch. 

"Cirono, what is that?" Estinne exclaimed, covering her nose but Durmsey seemed petrified, a haunted look about him. With trembling hands, he reached and picked the thing up, holding it as if at a certain distance but nevertheless with a measure of reverent dread. He was still shaking as his fingernails undid the knots and he unveiled the small parcel in one abrupt motion. The smell was overpowering and Estinne held both mouth and throat in an effort not to retch. Yet Durmsey seemed unaffected, the only sound from him, the gritting of his teeth as his eyes watered at the look of it. He beheld it as if it was everything he ever feared and worse yet drank in its acrid presence. It looked like a limp, tangled root, charred and blackened with soot that clung to it like tar. A clump of hair seemed to bind it together. Durmsey nudged it with a thumb through the cloth and it twitched and spasmed like a spider letting out its death throes. It's boney limbs repositioning to cross each other, before it went stiff once again.

"That's...it can't be...an Effigy?" Estinne stammered, her eyes shooting at Durmsey, "You..."  
Durmsey scrunched his fist so hard that it shook with the effort, crushing the trapped idol with a wet sound, as if it was nothing more than an insect. Possessed with a sudden ire, he limped to the hearth, throwing what remained in the flames. Even then, the Effigy refused to catch fire, its vile blood oozing in pustules along the broken surface. Durmsey grabbed the nearby poker, stabbing at it furiously, until it finally surrendered to the flames that feasted upon it, cracking and boiling as it was consumed. He stood resolute for what seemed like an age, arms crossed tightly on his chest, looking at it perish and turn to ash. His eyes both haunted and determined. Estinne approached and placed a hand on his shoulder but he did not seem to respond to her touch. His muscles underneath her palm were stiff.  
"Durmsey? Are you alright?" She whispered, as if in fear of disturbing his contemplation. There was no response and no movement from him even as she waited. Finally conceding to leave him to his devices, Estinne opened the door and with a final glance, creeped outside.


	6. Ace of Diamonds

No sooner had she started up the stairs, than a voice called her back. It was Two-Lips.  
"Watcher!" she called out again and Estinne stopped on her tracks and turned to face her, as she approached the staircase. Two-Lips was holding her cloak, it's sheer texture melding slightly with the woman's form as she cradled it in both hands. A spark of embarassment shot up Estinne's stomach, realising she had forgotten more than her pride after storming out of Durmsey's parlour.  
"Everything alright with our services?" Two-Lips pried, "Something you'd like me to tell Maea?" She raised her arms, handing her the garment. "You looked haunted stepping out of that room."  
Estinne raised an eyebrow and it dawned on her, how her interaction with Durmsey had been scrutinised when she returned to the brothel.  
"You'd think a kith is satisfied when they stumble out absent-mindedly." She motioned to her cloak, flashing Two-Lips a confident smile. "Thank you for this!"  
The woman soured at this response, hoping perhaps for juicier gossip but she quickly gathered her bearing and nodded, fists on her hips. "Of course, Watcher. Anything you want." She said with practiced courtesy.  
Estinne waited for her to turn heel and leave before continuing upstairs but as she shifted the cloak in her hands, something fell from the folds of the fabric and landed at her feet. It looked like a piece of paper, folded in two. She picked it up and it took a single glance to realise it was from Durmsey. A playing card, this time nothing scribbled on its surface, except the crease that cleaved it in two. The ace of diamonds.  
She was given little time to contemplate as slender hands wrapped around her waist in a light embrace. "Estinne?" Iqali smiled and left a peck on her cheek. "I heard you had arrived but you didn't come greet me. Did you forget about me already?" She teased. Estinne returned the gesture, sliding a hand at the small of Iquali's back and holding her close. But with the other, she folded the card quickly, hiding it in her palm as she slid it in her pocket.  
"I could never..." she leaned in, whispering in Iquali's sharp ear, "You've left your mark on me."  
Iquali giggled, puting a hand on her mouth but then seemed to sober up.   
"All your friends are here," she said pointedly, dropping her flirty demeanor for a more amicable tone. Estinne laughed and draped a corner of her cloak over Iquali's shoulder, the magic in it rendering her lithe form almost transparent. She smirked at that, bringing the fabric to conceal half her face as she did a little dance, golden eyes sparkling with mirth.  
At that moment, the nearby parapet was drawn aside, and one of the sailors stepped out, an unmistakable skip on his gait. A tall elf in a flowing gossamer robe appeared on the threshold, bidding him goodbye.  
"There's Aldwyn now," Iquali mused, as the elf turned his gaze on them and nodded imperceptibly. Estinne couldn't help but notice how exhausted he looked tonight, his almond eyes sunken beneath creases of tiredness that only accentuated his angular features, framed by long raven hair. The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips as he pulled back faded sleeves to reveal long, jaunty fingers adorned with frail gold rings.   
"I got a little time," Aldwyn said just above a whisper, pulling back the curtain and motioning for Estinne to step inside.  
Estinne smiled back and shook her head from side to side. "Maybe next time. Get some rest."  
Aldwyn gave a small bow and disappeared in his room, the candlelight within illuminating his form as he undressed.  
"So it's true!" Iquali yelled exuberantly, tugging at Estinne's arms. "I thought it was just a rumour making the rounds...you with Durmsey?"  
Estinne felt her throat dry out as redness creeped on her face and she looked back at Iquali dumbfounded. Her expression must have said it all, since Iquali leaned in conspiratorily.  
"You're not suprised, are you? You know how quickly news travel in the Mast!" She winked but there was just a hint of longing behind her smile."Just don't forget your old loves, Estinne."  
"Never, " she assured her, returning a broad smile. Iquali nodded once, putting a hand on her waist as a group of patrons closed in, capturing her attention. Estinne slinked back and headed for the common room.  
It did not take long to find the others. The sound of Eder snoring battled the wet squelch that escaped Durance's throat with every breath. Estinne chuckled quietly to herself, her eyes taking in the view of her companions, tucked away amidst the pillows. Only Ituumak stirred at her presence, extending a wet snout and sniffing in her direction, before wagging his tail happily, curled up beside Sagani. They were all here, safe and soudly asleep. All but Hiravias.

Estinne looked around for him but he was nowhere to be seen. The bitter feeling in her heart returned with a vengeance and although exhaustion creeped in, sleep was not forthcoming and not simply because of the unquiet dreams that followed. One of the nearby rooms was empty, the heavy curtains separating it from the common room drawn aside and illuminated only by the fading candlelight. Estinne creeped inside and settled down on the floor, setting the vihuela against the door frame opposite, as if she and the instrument were about to have a conversation.   
Unslinging her backpack, she leaned against it on the wall and her eyes travelled along the ceiling. The cracked plaster revealed wooden beams that were knotty and humid. The brothel, even at this early hour, was filled with rowdy voices or bawdy songs from downstairs and the muted moans and creaking sounds from the nearby rooms.  
Urging her thoughts to shift, Estinne took out the playing card from her pocket and unfolded it in her hand. The ace of diamonds looked back at her, more a question than an answer. She peered into it as if it was a portal to the mysteries she craved to fathom. Why had Durmsey seen fit to pose her a riddle and bid her on a small retrieval quest? Her being a Watcher was only half of it. A brothel was its own community with unwritten rules permeating most of what happened in it. She remembered the stares from Maea and Two-Lips, Iquali's calculated words. Durmsey didn't just entrust her to solve his riddle but most of all to keep it discreet, as she had done before. Yet the horror on his face when he beheld the Effigy, that was not the plan. What had he hoped to find in that box instead of what was in there? It felt like one of those Parables of Wael.   
But that was for Durmsey to puzzle out. As her thumb passed over the scratches of the card's stained surface, her mind unwittingly set to what had happened not so long ago. How he had welcomed her into his parlour, washed away the pains of a long day and caressed her. It did not matter who she was, where she had come from. To him she was just another kith, one of the many he had no doubt cradled in his arms tonight. Without any need for meaningless words. They had traded something and that was neither coin nor favours. Whatever it was, it made her feel warm, light as a feather, a great burden - one she hadn't even realised she was carrying, had suddenly lifted off her shoulders. And there was nothing forbidden or shameful about this feeling. Going back home, in Old Vailia, would never be the same again.

"Where were you? I've been looking all over for you!" Hiravias exclaimed, startling her out of reverie, his harsh tone halfway angry and halfway worried. He was standing at the doorway, although Estinne had not heard his footsteps. She pressed an index finger on her lips, motioning with her eyes to the room behind him and their sleeping companions. With her finger she enticed him closer, a smirk colouring her face. Momentary ire forgotten, Hiravias smiled mischievously in response as he stalked to sit down close to her, resting his backpack next to hers.  
"What's that?" He inquired in a quieter tone, nodding towards the playing card still in her hand.  
"Nothing important." She assured him, tucking the ace of diamonds in her swordbelt, as she fished for her clay pipe in one of the pouches. "Care for a smoke?"   
Hiravias grinned."I thought you'd never ask! Here, let me." He offered, taking the pipe from her hands. Deftly, with one of his fingernails, he cleaned the sooty residue from the bowl of the pipe and blew out any remaining ash. Estinne rummaged into her pack for a while, until she found her snuff box. The biting aroma of whiteleaf filled the small space between them as she unstoppered the leather contained and offered it for his inspection. Hiravias sniffed the contents apprehensively but then shook his head in acceptance.   
"Good enough." He mused and using another of his fingernails as a measure, he scooped a portion of the ground mixture into the bowl and placed the pipe in his mouth, patting himself until finally he discovered the flint and tinder in one of his inner pockets. Estinne chuckled and helped him light it with a few well placed strokes.  
Hiravias took a long draw from the pipe, setting it akindle as the air filled with the spicy sweet smell of burning herbs. Puffing out smoke, he offered the pipe back to her waiting lips and she bit down on it, drawing as well, savouring the taste with closed eyes. Hiravias smiled at her fondly and it lingered even as he looked away, bending down to undo the fastenings wrapped around his legs and remove his boots, setting them aside and wiggling the toes of his hairy feet.

"Cirono, the smell!" Estinne lamented, taking the pipe off her mouth and covering her nose with the back of her hand.  
"Look who's talking!" Hiravias teased, setting himself down next to her. "You stink of tar and saltwater fish!" He drew closer, sniffing her thoroughly. "Where have you been?"  
"None of your bussiness!" She inched backwards and then smelled her own arm for confirmation. It was as she feared. Hiravias chuckled and grinned, studying her reaction with interest.  
"I could ask you the same thing," she defended, passing him back his share of the pipe. "Where did you disappear?" Suddenly, her eyes rounded in recollection, "Where is my comb, Hiravias?"  
His grin widened as he blew smoke and he raised an eyebrow. "How do you know I didn't trade it for lewd favours with one of the lasses?" he said, tongue peeking out from under his canine.  
Estinne's face reddened with ire but as she was about to lunge at him, he set down the pipe, reaching into his chest pocket to reveal the peineta. Relief washed over her expression so quickly that Hiravias barely had time to react as she swiped at his hand.  
"Give me that!" she demanded, but he was quite faster, as he waved the comb in the air, just a hair's breadth away from her clutching hands before concealing it behind his back, a smug smile on his lips as he regarded her struggle. Estinne made to reach for it, but recoiled as soon as she realised it would mean ringing her arms around him.  
Sitting back, she huffed in exasperation. Hiravias chuckled and surrendered, holding out the comb - pristine and intact as when he'd first stolen it - on his open palm. She hesitated, looking at it and then studying his face, as if Wael himself had suddenly appeared, making an offer she could not refuse.  
"What is it with this comb anyway?" He piqued "Why is it so important?"  
Estinne passed her fingers over the spiral decorations of the polished surface, her touch lingering tentatively on the knuckle of his thumb.  
"It's not just any comb," she began hesitantly, her eyes searching him before she looked down upon the onject in his hand.  
"It's a peineta. The first thing to touch your hair, when it has grown long enough to braid. When you come of age, it becomes yours completely. You wear it in the spring days when the sun bakes your skin and you wear it when the autumn rains come pouring down. When you marry, it holds the string of coins your family has woven in your hair for good luck. Upon the death of those you love, you drape your mourning veil over it so no one may see you grieve. And when Cirono calls you, this is how you welcome him, with the peineta holding your shroud."  
When Estinne looked up to meet his gaze, Hiravias had softened as he regarded her longingly and then quickly turned away.  
"What's the matter?" she asked. He looked back at her, his ear only slightly perking up at her voice.  
"Did it belong to your mother before?"  
Estinne scoffed, breaking the softness of the moment. "My mother?" She spat bitterly, "My mother wouldn't spend a lusce for me." She shook her head firmly. "No. It was Rosalia, the seamstress.We children di a strada used to bring her fish we'd catch with a line. When she made cockle soup, the whole neighborhood stank!" Estinne chuckled as she recalled, tenderness returning to her voice. "A beautiful soul."  
Sadness tugged down at the corners of Hiravias' lips but he shook it away with a frown as he turned the peineta in his hands, tracing its contour.  
"My mother would always keep busy with something," he gritted, testing the teeth of the comb against his fingers. "During the long hunts that kept our tribe fed and honed, her hands would be occupied day and night. She would set down near the open hearth, separating the herbs needed for curing, sharpening the knives, mending the leathers that had grown too worn. When I was younger, she would call me to her, ask me to do what she couldn't." Hiravias shrugged pensively, as if to shed a painful memory, "Braid her hair." He sighed, his eye never leaving the comb.  
Silence settled between them, impossible to be filled with anything other than his gripping melancholy. Estinne felt it in her own heart, the wound that he was speaking of. And for it there was but one remedy. Yet fear held her back and she had to brave it in so many starts, that when her words finally came out, it was in exhale all at once.

"Would you like to braid mine?"  
His head shot up in surprise, lips moving soundlessly as redness creeped on his face. He gazed at her overwhelmed, confusion and uncertainty churning their way up his throat.  
"Oh, I didn't say that to...hmm...you want me to..." he stammered, clearly flustered, as he scratched the back of his head. "I suppose I could give it a go, but it's been a while..."  
Estinne smiled at him softly, a giddiness overtaking her relief.   
"I trust you. Just show me how."  
It seemed that any hesitance lingering in Hiravias was somewhat cleared upon her words and when he gazed back at her, it was with renewed resolve. Placing firm hands on her shoulders, he eased her sitting back on her heels as he came around to kneel behind her. His grip smoothed down to her arms, adjusting her posture so that she was comfortably within his reach. The certainty of his grasp made the hair at the back of her neck stand on end. With every sense other than sight, Estinne felt attuned to his slightest movement. There was a moment of stillness, enough to prick at her conscience, as a bated anxiousness spread within her chest. For a moment she wondered what had stalled him, if he had changed his mind. The next, she felt his fingers thread through the length of her hair, nails carefully unraveling any tangles as he caressed her again and again. His touch was patient and soothing, so unlike the fury he displayed in battle or his often reckless demeanor. Estinne willed herself to stand still and breathe softly, if only for the irrational fear that he might stop. Yet her heart beat unnecessarily fast and for a moment she worried it was loud enough that he might hear. Mierda, she thought, he probably knew.  
Hiravias' breath came out unquiet as he drew closer, taking ahold of her locks in his hands and separating the strands he would need, as he slowly began the braiding. Estinne could feel it in the blood that coursed through her veins; the warmth from his body and the lightness of his exhale as he leaned over her, the imperceptible brush of his fingertips against the skin of her neck that wound a tight coil in her abdomen.   
It took her aback when she heard him humming under his breath, a tune made up of short notes through his lips. She closed her eyes and listened to it entwine with the diligent movements of his fingers as they weaved the braid together down her back. It was a song of the loom that both appeased and made her restless. Hiravias coiled and bound the braid within itself at the back of her head and then he paused once more, his tune stopping as well. Estinne peered at him over her shoulder, wondering whether he regretted the result. But no, Hiravias looked pleased, hesitating only a second longer before he lifted his hands, finally securing the peineta in her hair from where he had lifted it a few hours ago.  
Estinne smiled exuberantly, turning around to regard him as she kneeled closer. He blushed, unable to hold her gaze for long as he sat there, unsure what to do with his hands as they fidgeted on his lap. "It feels beautiful!" She cheered, passing fingers over the links of the elaborate knotwork at the back of her head. "I wish I could see it!"   
Hiravias looked up at her briefly and the redness on his face deepened as he smiled at her sheepishly. Then, his smile waned and he looked down.  
"It's the only gentle thing I know."  
Estinne hesitated, but then she reached for him, fingertips mapping out his palms before she pressed her hands over his, giving them a light squeeze. His fingers closed to grasp her in turn, thumbs brushing on each of her knuckles. She leaned in, trying to capture his gaze.  
"I don't think that's true." She whispered, her words meant for him alone, "I really like you, Hiravias."   
At this his eye shot up at hers, searching her with intensity, needing to determine if she meant it or if this was the start of some cruel joke. He waited to hear her say more but she didn't. Instead, her cheeks coloured lightly and she worried her bottom lip.   
Holding a breath, her fingers traveled to his wrist, caressing him gently and then climbed up his tunic, threading through the coat that covered his shoulder, lingering for just a moment Her gaze never left his, searching in every advance, the sign that he wanted this. Upon her first contact with the marred skin of his visage, Hiravias tensed, a skittish look flashing in his eye, as his mangled ear twitched. At this Estinne stopped but before she could withdraw, Hiravias caught her hand in his, letting it rest against his cheek. She exhaled a surpised smile, fingertips trailing along the deep scars on his face, in a featherlight touch. He sighed deeply, closing his eye and leaning into her touch.  
A faint smirk shaped his lips and looking at her again, he responded in kind, his fingers pressing down the side of her face, careful that his nails did not graze her skin.  
The stomping of heavy boots on the hardwood floor made them jump and they grasped each other tightly, startled in an embrace as they turned to the source of the noise. A balding patron, sporting a thick beard, stumbled drunkenly into the room, with Lyrinia by his side. Her laughter ringed out as the couple settled in the only bed inside the room.  
Hiravias grinned luridly at Estinne and she chuckled as they both laughed quietly at the unexpected turn of events. Then their laugh turned to awkward smiles and they exchanged a glance in realisation they had landed in each other's arms. Flustered, they released each other with mild reluctance and looked away. Hiravias scratched his ear in embarashment, uncertain of the next move.  
But as Estinne made to get up, he grasped her arm firmly to stall her.  
"You don't have to," he urged her quietly but then, as if catching himself, he softened his hold on her. "You think we won't hear them from the common room?", he teased with a pointed look. Estinne's brow wrinkled slightly.  
"What of the others?" She asked in worry, looking back over her shoulder at their companions. "Won't they see?"  
Hiravias studied her for a moment, testing the words in his mouth. "You care?" He asked her softly, "Stay with me."  
Estinne needed no words to respond as she pierced him with her look and grasped his arm in turn, letting him guide her as they lay down mere inches from each other, their backpacks their only pillow. Hiravias trailed his palm down to her wrist and took her hand in his. She stared at his face until every sound disappeared and the only thing left was them, laying close, their hands entwinned in the brief distance that still remained between them. The eye of Wael that had so unnerved her once, now paled in comparison to his vibrant green and the jubilant smile on his face as he regarded her steadily. His eyepatch nothing more than a piece of leather, an image stitched together with piecies of thread.  
Suddenly, her eyes rounded in realisation and she let go of his hand briefly as she pulled the playing card from her belt. She turned it in her hand, until the ace of diamonds lay on its back, passing her thumb down the fold that divided it evenly in two. The stylised eye of Wael stared back at her and she smiled widely, bumbling laughter welling up her throat in that she had cracked the riddle.  
Hiravias peered at her curiously from behind the card, as he took it from her hands,   
"What's the deal with this anyway?" He remarked, looking down upon it, puzzled.  
Estinne chuckled and eyed him lovingly.  
"I guess you'll have to find out."


End file.
